


Ships Passing

by rivkat



Category: Fringe, Supernatural
Genre: Crossover, Eight crazy nights, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-04
Updated: 2011-01-04
Packaged: 2017-10-14 09:58:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/148050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rivkat/pseuds/rivkat





	Ships Passing

The hot guy in the leather jacket had been watching Peter all night, except when he was hustling his own games, winning slow but steady; losing just enough to keep the suckers thinking that they had some kind of chance.

Peter worked carefully around him. He didn’t need trouble any more than the hot guy did, and he had to calibrate so that the other players didn’t decide that what they really needed was to bet on a contest between them. Neither of them would make enough on that game to justify it, and after that they’d both be unable to get further ahead.

A little early, but with enough in his pocket to get him through to the next bar, Peter put away his cue, conceding the remaining suckers to the other hustler.

“Hey.” The voice, low enough that Peter was pretty sure the timbre was deliberate, stopped him. Peter turned to face him, even hotter up close. Short, slightly spiked hair, eyes as green as a cat’s, mouth a dirty promise without needing any words.

“Hey,” Peter said back, drawing it out just enough to let him know that Peter knew he was being cruised.

“You’re pretty good,” he said. “Why’re you quitting?”

Peter shrugged. “Got bored.”

The guy smirked. “See anything else that interests you?”

“I could be persuaded,” Peter said slowly, but he had things it was better not for strangers to see back at his motel, which was how he ended up in the back alley, letting ‘James’—as transparently not his name as Alexander wasn’t Peter’s—push him against the cold, rough bricks, mortar pressing bruises into his back as James worked his belt open one-handed. He was a tease of a kisser, nipping at Peter’s lips then darting back, using his tongue in quick swipes, until Peter’s zipper was down and his cock was firmly in James’s hand. Then it was pure tongue-fucking, deep and sweeping, pausing just long enough for him to spit in his palm and use it to make the handjob better.

Peter put a hand around James’s neck, hanging on, enjoying the warm smooth skin on his nape. He got James’s belt open—never let it be said that he’d be shown up in dexterity by a backroom hustler—and started to reciprocate. James had a nice solid cock, fitting Peter’s hand like it was made for that, leaking obligingly when Peter ran his thumb over the head.

James licked and bit his way over Peter’s jaw, down his neck, and Peter let his head fall back as they both sped up, his leg lifted to grind his thigh against James’s jeans.

Peter came with a grunt, seconds before James. Peter produced a handkerchief, because he was in some ways a gentleman, and offered it to James, who just shook his head.

“Well,” James said, backing away, “thanks.”

“Any time,” Peter said.

When James was just at the edge of the alley, Peter called out, “Hey, James.”

He took a second to remember the name he’d given, then turned. “Yeah?”

Peter held up James’s wallet. “I’ll give you yours if you give me mine.”

Even in the darkness, Peter could see his eyes widen. “How the hell--?”

Peter grinned. “You’re good with your hands, kid, I’ll give you that. But I’m better. Do we have a deal?”

Sighing, James pulled Peter’s wallet out of his jacket. On an unspoken count of three, they both tossed. James plucked his wallet out of the air as easily as Peter did, and checked the contents grumpily, but Peter wasn’t trying to take his slightly more legitimate earnings, only to make a point.

He had a cute pout, Peter thought. With a bit more seasoning, he might actually make a con man, but only if he paid a bit more attention to his targets.

That wasn’t any of Peter’s concern, though. He only had room to worry about himself. Giving James one last wave, he stepped back into the night.


End file.
